


Between the Sheets

by coolbyrne, jenni3penny



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24833845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenni3penny/pseuds/jenni3penny
Summary: Considering how much of their lives was carved from big moments, it came as a surprise that a collection of little things brought them together. Like sheets and boxers and toast and pickles.  Slibbs
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 42
Kudos: 156





	Between the Sheets

**Author's Note:**

> So jenni3penny and I played around with the idea that, wouldn't it be funny if Jack came over to help with a case one Friday and spent the night in the guest room... only to be blissfully unaware that she was now doing it on a regular basis? And that Gibbs was absolutely okay with it even if he didn't want to draw attention to it, out of fear she would go away? Then we fought over who would write it, and by that I mean, we argued that the other person should write it. So Jen valiantly took up the challenge, but as I read her work, I got inspired to write my own version. Then we both kinda came to a brick wall in each of our fics, so we decided to amalgamate them. Despite our often differing writing styles, I think it worked! We hope you do, too!

She had already been halfway down the stairs when she’d heard him, her body half chilled and pulling an old stained sweater over the tank top she had slept in. By the time she had realized that he was on the phone she had already made enough noise to warn him that she was awake and on her way down from the guest room. She tended to make a shuffle of sound on the mornings she found herself in his house, warning him that she was about to interrupt his space and time. 

“Sorry,” she murmured as she rounded the corner and found him in his living room, his cell phone to his ear and a cup of coffee in the other hand. 

“Yeah, but you still have to try, kiddo. You can’t just give up cuz it gets tougher.” His words were obviously not meant for her and she ducked her head slightly, doing her best to avoid listening in on his conversation. The fact that he stretched the coffee cup out toward her slowed her steps and caught her before she made it entirely through the living room. 

Jack grinned and took the cup from him, one brow arched and her chin going higher as she continued by him. His smile followed her and as she kept on toward the kitchen and the wheat bread she knew he had hiding in the breadbox. The idea of some toast and coffee before she left for home made her stomach grumble at her and she took a sip of coffee, pleased with the amount of sugar in it. 

It _had_ to have been for her. There was zero chance he was drinking anything that sweet. 

“I gotta go, all right? You text me after?” 

She smirked as she headed into his kitchen to make toast, knowing that he was following behind her. 

***

“Phineus?” she asked, stretched back against his counter while she waited for the toaster, her legs looking twice as long as they usually did. She seemed taller just by the creamy bare length of her beneath short black running shorts and an oversized tan sweater. No socks on her feet and a hot pink tank top strap peeking out from under one off kilter sleeve. Her hair was loosely wadded up on top of her head, glasses on and her coffee cup curled into the center of her chest. Her hands were half covered by frayed sleeves, dark nail polish winking at him. 

Gibbs just nodded acknowledgement. “You find the wheat?”

“Mmm hmm,” she hummed over the lip of her favorite mug, one she’d shown up with weeks before, one that lived in his cupboard now. 

It had simply never gone home. 

A little like her, really… 

_Thankfully_.

In the preceding two months she had stayed over more than not, especially on the weekends or after long poker games, on late work nights or after whiskey and steak. She had become a companion of sorts, silently co-existing with him, creating the illusion of domesticity without a word. There was no implication of responsibility, no emotional expectation. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. Usually he would be relieved but with her… he felt a little put out. 

“I’ll head out after I get something to eat and do these dishes.”

“Leave ‘em,” he waved off, stepping in beside her so that he could pour himself a cup of coffee, feeling her sigh beside him more than he heard it. Her shoulders slumped lower as the toaster popped and before she could even turn he reached out and slapped it down again, knowing the toast hadn’t gone dark enough for her yet. "Got laundry in the dryer, though.”

She nodded at his side, head turned so that she could watch him as she took another long swallow. Gibbs let his smile rise on one side of his mouth, leaving it gentle, unobtrusive as he met her dark and inquisitive eyes. He swallowed laughter as they both took a drink at once, watching her own humor sparkle and gloss those beautiful browns. She was killing him with her sleep tousled proximity, looking warm and inviting beside him. Looking like ten times more than just an occasional housemate. 

“Gotta grab some lumber this morning.”

She hummed her grin down behind her mug, eyes sparking up even brighter in unbridled humor. 

“That a private joke about getting morning wood, Sloane?” 

“Gibbs, I would _never_ ,” Jack whispered as her toast popped up a second time, turning her chuckle to her opposite side as she reached for it. Her coffee went to the counter and he tamped down the urge to reach his hand out against her hip to pull her back to his side. 

He watched her lightly butter the toast instead of saying anything else. Hating himself for feeling gutless and loving her for adorably rising up on her toes without realizing it. 

He had to get the hell out of there before morning wood stopped being just a joke. 

***

She had just brought up the laundry basket from the basement when the knock came at the door. Hoisting the load from her hip to the table, she called out, "Be right there!" before getting to the side window for a peek. Gibbs might've been inclined to leave the door unlocked, but considering the history the house held, she wasn't about to take that chance when he wasn't there. In this instance, she had nothing to worry about, and her face lit up at the visitor. She turned the handle and let the door swing open.

"Ellie!" The 2 hugged and Jack leaned back. "Come on in. Gibbs' gone to get wood for the boat. Sorry. _Lumber_." She held out her hands in surrender. "But he should be back any minute."

"I'm actually here to see you," Bishop said as they stepped into the living room. "When I found out you weren't home, I figured this was the next likely place." She let the implication hang in the air, though Jack seemed to miss it.

"We were working on the Unsworth case last night," Jack said, beginning to fold the laundry. Though she didn't see the subtle amusement, she did see the way Bishop coveted the hoodie she was folding. "Take it," she whispered conspiratorially. "It's the black one; he's got 3 of them. He'll never notice."

The fact that she knew how many black hoodies Gibbs owned brought Bishop's amusement to the forefront. Unable to hide her arched eyebrow, she asked, "Three, huh?"

Jack narrowed her eyes and playfully pursed her lips, though she didn't take the bait. "Why were you looking for me?" 

Momentarily letting Jack off the hook, she reached into her pocket. "My apartment key."

Jack put down the folded jeans. "Right. You're going home for the week."

She handed it over and said,. "I'd ask Nick, but I have a plant I'd like to see alive when I get back."

"I make no promises," Jack grinned, pocketing the key, then picking up another piece of laundry. 

Bishop watched in quiet amazement as Jack folded a pair of Gibbs' boxers with zero awareness, oblivious enough that she grabbed a second pair without hesitation, folded it, and added it to the neat pile. When she lifted a sheet from the basket, Bishop grabbed an end and brought the corners together. As they mirrored each other, Jack said, "Every time I stay over, I have to wash the sheets or I can never find them."

"Doesn't he just keep them in a closet?"

"You'd think so wouldn't you? But it's like he hides them or something. If I leave them on the bed, I have to go digging around if I end up staying over.”

"Maybe he doesn't want you putting sheets on the guest bed," Bishop suggested as they met in the middle and she gave the two corners to Jack. Her eyes gently encouraged her to delve deeper into the comment.

Jack frowned. “Why wouldn’t he want me to put-” She felt the heat burn her cheeks. It didn’t help that Bishop lowered her head but raised her eyes in a patient, yet disbelieving look.

To make matters worse, Bishop casually peeked at the boxers and asked, “How many of _these_ does he have?”

“Your plant’s going to die a horrible death.”

Bishop grinned and surprised Jack with a hug. “I have so much respect for you because you’re so good at putting things together; things we don’t even see.” Pulling back, she took the teasing out of her voice and offered nothing but sincerity when she added, “Maybe turn that inward a little? You might be surprised at what you find.” A truck door slammed outside. “That’s my cue. I’ll see you in a week.” Holding up the hoodie, she winked, “Thanks.”

Jack considered their conversation and the advice the young agent offered, advice _she’d_ normally be giving to _her_. “I think I should be thanking you, Ellie.”

Bishop shrugged. “Just don’t kill my plant.” As she turned, she nearly bumped into Gibbs, who looked down at her hand.

“Is that my sweater?”

Rising on tiptoes, she glanced into the paper bag wedged into the crook of his elbow. “Is that artisan bread?”

At a stand-off and on the precipice of something he was certain he didn’t want to step into, he scowled at her, but then kissed her cheek. “Enjoy Oklahoma.”

She blushed slightly, as she always did when he got soft with her. Covering up her joy, she said, "You didn't even ask me why I was here."

He shrugged. "Givin' Jack the key to your place because you don't trust Torres to not kill your plant."

She found no suitable response to his uncanny deduction, so she simply nodded and said, "Okay."

Jack stepped forward to offer her own kiss on the cheek. "Have a great time. Tell me all about the cowboys when you get back."

Bishop grinned. "And you can tell me about the sheets. See you in a week!" 

She was out the door before Gibbs could ask her what she meant, so he turned to Jack who had gone back to the laundry.

"What'd she mean by that?"

Jack shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "Just some girl talk."

"About cowboys," he hummed, taking a moment to glare her down a little. He watched her reaction, noted the defensive rise in one shoulder as she turned back to the basket. Another shrug seemed to take her over as she fished out a Marines tee and started to fold it, still avoiding his glance. 

Gibbs half smirked at their supposed secret keeping, nodding at the laundry on his way by her and into the kitchen. "Ya don't have to do that, ya know?" 

"I know. But it relaxes me."

The smile on him grew a little wider, a result of silently appreciating the fact that she could find a way to relax and make herself at home at once. He didn’t need her to actually fold his laundry. He just needed her to feel comfortable, secure. He liked the simple innocence of knowing that while he was in the kitchen putting the groceries away she was in the living room, fussing over something that she didn’t really _need_ to fuss over. Her proximity, her presence, just the nearness of her throughout the quiet day had become a calming force for him. The scent of her perfume had started to mingle with the smell of his laundry soap and they were becoming a tangled twist that lulled him even farther into a good mood. 

Once most everything was put away he reached for the bread that Ellie had teased him about and grabbed a knife. "Thought you had a dart board for that?"

"Yes, but I don't have a dart board _here_ ," she shot back from the dining room, her voice conversational. 

He finished slicing half the bread up, searching out sandwich ingredients, the auto-pilot in him rummaging mostly for what she liked. "Do I stress you out?" 

It had come out of his mouth more cautiously than he had meant, voice concerned as he plated the bread and started making her sandwich first. Like the toast, he knew what she liked, had learned her tastes early on. It wasn't hard to put something together that she would appreciate. 

She laughed as she got closer. "No. Which is probably why I've been here 6 Saturdays out of the last 8."

He knew the tally was true, but he hadn't let himself think about it too much, not really. And she said it so casually, so sincerely. That sincerity had lifted any worry; it didn't sound like it'd been any sort of burden for her to stay over, no matter the reasoning. She had seemed to grow more and more comfortable and the less awkward she felt about things the more gently domestic the whole situation became. They had both found a rhythm that worked, a private dance that gave them space and companionship at once. They came together and then drifted apart and he found himself doing little things that might keep her there longer - even if it just meant she read in the living room while he worked in the basement. 

"Good," he answered, reaching for the jar of pickles he'd added to the shopping list.

Maybe he _had_ thrown her clothes in with his sheets on purpose, knowing that she would stay ‘til the dryer was done. Maybe he _did_ purposely time the lunch with her finishing up the last of the freshly laundered clothing. Maybe it would give them an hour longer. Maybe over lunch he would pull the Unsworth file back out… She couldn’t usually turn down a puzzle. 

***

She realized exactly what he was doing, smirking as she studied him from behind and added the last t-shirt to the pile of his laundry. He was very obviously making sandwiches for the both of them, keeping her around a little longer because he knew she wouldn’t turn his companionship (or a good sandwich) down. She didn’t entirely know how to tell him that he didn’t need to manifest reasons for her to stay longer. She was perfectly comfortable lounging around his house without the impetus of finely sliced turkey and the New York deli style pickles she kept sneaking off his plate. 

Jack debated mentioning it as she moved toward him, stepping into the kitchen quietly. Was there really any need to burst the thin little bubble that they had managed to circle around themselves? She wasn’t sure. But then… Well, Ellie certainly hadn’t been wrong. Her summation had been pretty spot on and now the younger woman’s words were repeating in her head. She leaned into the counter beside him, turning so that she could watch his face and a cascade of calm started in her shoulders before falling down the rest of her. 

He’d now bought her two loaves of her favorite bread and he had made her sandwich perfectly. Her confidence grew as he offered her the open jar of pickles, the strong garlic and dill scent bright between them as she grinned. Jack just looked back up at him, watching him as she lifted one shoulder without committing.

They both knew she’d just eat his. 

And she laughed when he put two on his plate in response, his eye roll and slant grin bolstering her even more. 

"You know what other numbers have been rolling around in my head?" She lifted a pickle from his plate, catching the twitch of a smirk the act brought over his mouth. It was only a momentary debate as she took a bite, because she knew that she was taking a chance - but she also knew that he’d done countless things to keep her close. She could put two and two together and get the right answer, even if it had taken her time to get to it. He pretended the sandwiches had the entirety of his attention as she chewed and swallowed and that was all right, because she was about to steal it right back. "In those 6 Saturdays, I’ve folded your boxers _at least_ 30 times, and I haven't even been in them yet."

The knife clattered the plate unevenly and the movement was so jerked that the sound echoed throughout the small kitchen. "Jesus, Sloane."

She smiled wider, noting that he was starting to turn a shade of almost pink right around his ears. Leave it to Jethro Gibbs to so stubbornly refuse to blush that his ears were the only clue that her words had landed right on target. He adjusted the knife in his hand and used the other to press the sandwich still, leaving her the quiet space to take another bite and watch him grow even more nervous. She wondered what was going on behind those beautiful blue eyes that hid twice as much as they said. In for a penny, she lifted her hand and tapped his bottom lip with the pickle, her eyes watching his mouth open enough to take the offering, biting right up to her finger tips. His hand cupped her elbow, holding her still while he chewed, his gaze now locked with hers, her fingers against his lips. The act was slow and deliberate, sensual yet just a bit uncertain. She dispelled it by gently pushing the rest between his lips then replacing her fingers with her mouth, leaving only a space of breath between them.

“It’s such a shame, because they’re awfully nice boxers,” she whispered. 

He felt the shadow of her smirk against his lips before he pushed her up against the counter, wiping away the grin with a hard kiss that she returned with fervour, looping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer. The dill was still tangy on his tongue as it brushed across hers, drawing out a low moan that seemed to come from both of them, and the sound uncorked 2 years worth of waiting and countless loads of laundry. His fingers threaded through her hair to grip her tightly while her hands dropped from his shoulders and met at his belt.

“What am I wearing?” he asked playfully, moving along her jaw to her ear until she relinquished access to her throat.

Under his determined mouth, she managed to get out, “Isn’t that my line?” A small bite that was sure to leave a mark drew out a prayer to a deity and a breathless, “Please tell me they’re the baby blue ones with the white stripes.” He paused against her chin and chuckled. “They remind me of your eyes. I make no apologies.”

“Wasn’t askin’ for one, sweetheart.” 

The endearment got him another moan that doubled as encouragement to continue. Her intentions faltered, his mouth and hands and tall frame conspiring to distraction. His hips lined up with her pelvis, and if she shifted just so-

This time, the moan came from him and she slid her hands into his back pockets with a victorious hum. 

“Did you really not put sheets on the guest bed on purpose?”

The seemingly non sequitur momentarily caught him flat-footed until he remembered her earlier conversation with Ellie.

“That what you and Bishop were talkin’ about?”

Her shrug was all feigned nonchalance. “That and cowboys.” His scowl did little to quell her mirth. “Don’t worry, there will only ever be one cowboy in my life.” A touch of seriousness splashed into her tone. “At least, that’s what I’m hoping for.”

“Why don’t you come up and see what sheets I have on my bed?”

She pulled back, recognizing his humour as a diversion. She didn’t need him to say it; his eyes said it all. “That’s your line? Really?”

“You started it by sayin’ you wanted to get in my pants.”

“Boxers,” she corrected, tugging on his belt again. Glancing down at her work, it took seconds to find her answer. Blue fabric with white pinstripes peeked out from his pants and she ran her tongue over her bottom lip.

“Never knew laundry could be so damn sexy,” was all he said before he kissed her again.

…..

-end


End file.
